


The Wishing Tree

by Mythril (fantacination)



Series: #SheithWeek2k16 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And definitely not platonic, Armor sex, Clothed Sex, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, For all of five seconds - Freeform, GJ Shiro, M/M, Needy Keith, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Present Tense, Sex Pollen, Sheith Week 2016, Sheith Week 2016: Fight Me/Love Me, Shiro is Trying To Be Responsible, Surprisingly it's actually pretty vanilla sex, Truth Serum, dear god how do i write porn again, everyone is of legal age, this is pretty much just porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantacination/pseuds/Mythril
Summary: Day 3 Fight me/Love meSummary: In hindsight, a wish-granting tree was really too good to be true.





	

“So this must be it,” Shiro says, looking up at the enormous tree, taller than the Statue of Liberty, gnarled and twisting before hunching back down like a weathered hag. The bark is stippled blue. The leaves are a pink that glow faintly in the dusk that had settled shortly after they’d entered the maze.

Deep purple spiny fruit hang in clusters of three and two on the branches.

“A magical tree with wish-granting fruit. Do you think it’s real?” Shiro muses aloud, placing one hand on the tree’s trunk and feeling it thrum, like he’a touching the hood of a running engine.

“It’s probably just folklore,” Keith says. “We’d know by now if Lance got his wish granted. There’d be a parade. With flower girls.”

Shiro chuckles at that. “How do you know that’s his deepest wish?”

“I don’t.” Keith replies. “It’d be nice if that was all he wished for.”

Shiro glances down soberly. Each and all of them have wishes they won't or no longer talk about.

He kneels on the floor and scatters the blessed ashes and grains from the village they’d helped. This pilgrimage is supposed to be a reward. The offering for the venerable tree is to entreat it’s help. He bows deeply to the tree’s great roots. It’s a familiar gesture, bringing to mind years past when he was growing up, honoring the dead and paying respects at temples and shrines.

A cluster of fruit, a couplet, drops down to the ground.

Keith startles at it, looking warily up at the tree, before shrugging and picking it up. Up close, the fruit are actually joined together. Keith breaks them apart neatly, showing the insides to be jelly-like flesh dyed a vivid crimson with speckled black seeds. Sticky-sweet scent fills the air.

Handing him one, Keith taps his half against it lightly. “Kanpai.”

Shiro smiles and taps it back, echoing the cheer from an island in a planet twenty three galaxies away. “For something like this, it should really be ‘itadakimasu’, though,” he says, unable to resist. Keith throws him a sullen look over his bite of fruit.

Shiro tries his half. The jelly is more liquid than flesh, but the taste is sweet and refreshing, a heaviness to it that reminds him of nectarines. Juice spills over his fingers and lips. And it’s warm. Not from his hand. It’s warm like hot chocolate. It makes him shiver as he sips.

“I bet Hunk’s going to be sad we can’t get more of this.” He chuckles a bit, too warm and a little light-headed.

Too late he thinks about what that means.  

“Shiro,” Keith says. And something in his voice makes Shiro look up-- and drop the half-emptied shell of the fruit.

Keith’s body hits him like a sledgehammer. His hands burn Shiro’s skin, his lips chapped from his own heat, pressed to Shiro’s mouth like it was a lifeline.

“Keith-- Keith, what,” Shiro gasps into Keith’s mouth, tasting the sweet and sticky tang of alien fruit like an echo of the one in his own, but on Keith it seemed infinitely more mysterious, something that made his tongue want to chase it.

“Wait, something’s wrong,” Shiro pushes him back, only to have Keith brace himself on his arms.

He’s never seen Keith like this.

No. That’s a lie.

He’s never seen Keith like this-- outside the carefully darkened corners of his mind.

 _The tree will grant you what you seek._ That’s what the elder had said.

The Holts. Victory against the Empire. A time where everything is bright and good, as endless as the horizon.

He’d thought of all those things.

But not this. Not the weight of Keith on top of him, the something from a long forgotten dream. Idle thoughts from when he'd felt much younger than he did now.

The Keith in those dreams, when Shiro had been young enough to be hungry instead of guilty, had been like this, hands and mouth, gaze searing like he wants to be devoured.

He’s heat, he’s want and need. Now. _Please._

This Keith is hands pulling at his armor fastenings until the red-white pieces fall to the ground. This Keith is a sinuous, predatory shift that starts from his shoulders and ends between Shiro’s thighs.

“You’re not acting yourself- this is, it’s probably my fault, but you have to stop.” Because he’s not sure he can if Keith doesn’t, soon.

He is wiser than this. Shiro knows that. He knows and he’s pinned to the floor, Keith on top, panting and flushed. Above him, the blue boughs rustle gently, swaying its heavy burden of fruit, the scent intoxicatingly heavy and sweet.

It’s been a long two years. And the secret he’s long kept is that more than anyone he is weak.

“I want- Shiro, I want you,” Keith pleads, his voice a husky, ragged low whisper. It sends sparks down Shiro’s spine, the weight of Keith on his lap a backdraft of heat.

“I’m here, let me,” Shiro says, mouth dry, because the air is syrup and he wants Keith, too. The honeyed air chokes him with promises.  

Keith is warm, firm weight, stripped but for his cuisses and sollerets, his black flight suit unzipped to his navel and promising warmth and sweat.

Shiro unbuckles the chestplate and shoulder guards, letting them fall to the floor. He reaches for Keith, catches his nape and tugs him into a hungry kiss.

Keith’s hand catches on the zip and he yanks it down past Shiro’s waist. Keith’s fingers curl on the hem of Shiro’s soft cotton boxers, tugging at it so fiercely it rips at the seams.

The sleeves of Keith’s suit bunch under Shiro’s hands as he pulls them down. He kisses each inch of bared warm skin it gives him, mouth tracing a line from Keith’s throat to his navel. He’s not sure if it’s Keith’s heart pounding in his ears or his own, anymore.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thinks. _I can’t stop. I don’t want to._

He takes one of Keith’s soft nipples into his mouth and Keith chokes on a breath, it’s a soft sound, tucked into Shiro’s hair, like his mouth and his fingers.

There’s so much he wants to touch and he can’t decide where to, first.

He pulls Keith in by his hips, wanting every inch of skin on his.

Keith’s hard, his cock bumping up against Shiro’s stomach, wet at the flushed velvet tip. Shiro wants to taste it, but he wants to feel Keith more.

He scraped precum off his weeping cock and his fingers curve over a hip and he doesn’t realize it’s his metal arm until he’s already a finger deep inside Keith.

If Keith minds the unyielding cold, he gives no hint. He wants everything, right now.

One finger becomes two, carefully working Keith open. Careful as their kisses are careless, needy and wet.

He thinks about every dim memory of lying back on his bed, imagining just this situation, the feel of Keith’s body yielding to his fingers, sinking into that warm tight muscle.

“Keith,” he says, and his voice almost doesn’t sound like his own, ragged and low. “Please,”

“Yes. _Yes_ ,” Keith repeats, and reaches down himself, slotting Shiro’s hard length into the softened gape of his entrance.

Keith pushes himself down and they stop breathing. It’s so hot, so tight and he’s not even inside. Keith gasps and bears down, working himself open on Shiro’s cock in slow cants of his hips. His hands are on Shiro’s chest, fingers splayed and trembling. Shiro catches one and pulls it to his lips, kissing the tips, sucking them into his mouth. He’s looking at Keith, watching him roll on his cock, flushed and unable to help himself. His shoulders are set and his brows knit with focus, but his eyes are half-lidded and they look into Shiro’s, hot and stubborn.

A little bit of Shiro feels an epiphany. But most of Shiro is currently filling his dick and it’s all he can do to yank Keith down once he’s seated, warm thighs and cold armor squeezing his sides, kissing him again and again.

It’s perfect, inside Keith, their hips pinned together, hands stroking over warm skin and their lips fitted like puzzle pieces, meeting.

But then Keith starts to move and Shiro surges up with him, rolling them both over so Keith’s shoulders hit the floor and his thighs are curled up around him. The armor isn’t meant for this, but they frame his ass perfectly, lewdly drawing attention to where his cock is wedged inside, Keith’s own hard cock bobbing above it, slick with his own precum.

He pushes one of Keith’s legs back against his shoulder and snaps his hips in, thrusting up.

Keith cries out, fingers digging into Shiro’s shoulders. His body is a wanton curve, inviting his touch, like the bow of his lips, bitten back against the sounds. His body screams, the way Keith’s mouth never has, for touch and affection. It’s an echo to the emptiness where his memories had gone, that his scars have filled.

And Shiro, Shiro wants to answer every note.

When he comes, he’s buried so deep his hips all but cuts into Keith’s thighs, his mouth tender as the skin under his teeth. He keeps himself there until his cock sputters still and Keith is wet, wet with _him_.

He wants to do it again.

Keith’s arms tighten around him, reeling him in.

And all he wants to do is stay in this moment when things are simple.

Keith groans softly into his shoulder, almost pained. 

It burns like a hot penny under Shiro’s tongue.

He readies himself for the apologies. To make amends for this indulgence.

“Are you okay?” He starts. “I shouldn’t have given in.”

“Stop,” Keith says.

Shiro stops.

Keith turns his face so he can see him. “It’s my wish, too.”

“They got a few details off,” Keith continues, after a pause. “You were supposed to be a lot more naked.”

“But then… I guess it’s not about the wish.”

“Keith?” Shiro asks, and feels a coward, words still stuck in his throat.  

Keith’s hand reaches up and cups Shiro’s cheek. “I think I understand what they meant, now,” he says quietly and his lips against Shiro’s this time is slow. A gentler cousin to the years of catch up they’ve made up for, cooling on their skin.

His eyes are soft and in them Shiro reads a calm that’s rarely been so overt.

“The fruit doesn’t grant you a wish. It keeps you from lying about what you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a lot dirtier than it turned out. Hm.  
> I blame Shiro tbh. Pls bb.


End file.
